


Slightly Out of Step with Reality

by Burningchaos



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-09
Updated: 2008-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burningchaos/pseuds/Burningchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no third movie, and this is about Thirteen years after X2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slightly Out of Step with Reality

**Author's Note:**

> I have a habit of posting X-men fic on my birthday, and I wrote this at like five in the morning. Thank you to [](http://darkmoon711.livejournal.com/profile)[**darkmoon711**](http://darkmoon711.livejournal.com/) for the beta, all mistakes left are my own.

Loud, raucous music, that was more screaming and wailing, poured through the dingy bar. The air was thick with smoke, one of the few bars left where you could enjoy a smoke with your beer, which is exactly what John was doing.

He peeled the label off the weak American Beer; his face subconsciously wincing with each pull. He didn’t know why he did this every year, why this particular bar was important enough to drop whatever he was doing and come to for his birthday, but he did.

John also didn’t want to know why he waited, every year, with anticipation and hope, that he’d long thought otherwise dead, for Bobby to show but he did. Their friendship was dead, as was anything else he’d ever hoped they might have been but two days a year they’d managed to put everything aside and just be John and Bobby out for a few beers instead of Pyro and Iceman, mutants on opposite side of an ongoing war.

He lit another cigarette, and let the flames dance subtly along his fingers, nothing enough for the patrons to notice and just enough to satisfy his need. He snapped his lighter shut when a cool voice whispered, against his ear, “I miss seeing you do that at dinner time.”

John jerked back and whipped his head around to meet ice blue eyes that were smiling at him again. “Yeah, well I was always big on dinner and a show.”

Bobby laughed, ordered his own beer and sat down. “You look rough, man.”

John grimly nodded, but he wasn’t going there. Not now. “How’s the wife and kids?”

“Fuck you.” Bobby took his beer from the bartender and took a sip. “Kinda hard to have kids when the wife leaves you.” Bobby looked at him, his expression schooled and frozen.

“Logan?” As if he needed to ask. He’d never understood why Bobby had married Marie… not when they couldn’t touch.

“Heh, as if there was anyone else.” Bobby shook his head. “The kids are great though.” He looked steadily at John again, his expression as always unreadable. “Got a kid at the school who reminds everyone of this guy we used to know, went by the name St. John. He sneezes and fires go nuclear. If there is even a spark in the air his powers latch onto it and take over.”

John looked back down at his beer. He felt a rolling wave of nausea; he didn’t wish his powers on anyone. More often then not, they still controlled him instead of the other way around. That was the lure of the dragon. It needed to be fed and it was always hungry, always looking for more. Someday he knew it would consume him too, he fingered his lighter and wished again for there hundred millionth time that he could start fires as well as control them. That was the dragon’s need too.

“Fire starter? Or just stealing the fire?”

“He is ten, man, right now he ‘steals’ it as you put it but his powers are growing, he is going to be starting them any day now.” Bobby’s voice was heavy with sadness and concern. “That will be a bad day.”

John emptied his beer and signaled for another one. “Being born a mutant was a bad day.”

Bobby touched his arm, “No, no birthday is a bad day, which by the way, Happy Birthday. How does it feel to be creeping up on thirty?”

John shook his head and snorted. “I didn’t think I would live to see twenty, so this is all cake.”

“You know...” Bobby stopped, that far away look was back shadowing his eyes. “We could use you right now...” He hesitated, “I could use you right now.”

Raw anger/need/hurt/love/pain/confusion slammed through John’s gut. Bobby had stopped doing this eight years ago. He looked away, his body shaking. He lit another cigarette and felt the calmness the fire brought wash over him. “You can’t go home again, and that was never really my home.”

“You’ll always be the prodigal son to me.” Bobby’s voice was soft and barely discernible over the music.

John nodded, his eyes burned and he hated that. He stood, clasped his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t wait up.”

He could have sworn he heard Bobby whisper, “I always do.” As he left.


End file.
